Lover to Lover
by realnikkiheat
Summary: It's worse now because she can see it. She knows what his hands look like; fumbling with her buttons, combing through the ends of her hair, gripping her hips, clenched in his sheets. Knows what he looks like above her, below her, panting and sated. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

(This was originally written way back before Cloudy with a Chance of Murder aired, and I jacked a character from the synopsis. Hence a slightly different Kristina Coterra.)

* * *

_I've been wandering the streets  
For days and days and days  
Going from road to road, bed to bed  
Lover to lover and black to red_

-Florence+The Machine, _Lover to Lover_

* * *

Kate stumbles through the bedroom (_Castle's_ bedroom, a voice in her head reminds her), desperately searching through his closet, his laundry basket.

"Castle," she calls, wincing at the shrill sound of her voice, "do you know if my gray dress pants are here? With the high waist?"

A pause, and then she hears his voice, growing louder, "Not sure-I know there's a black pair in the closet…"

"Those won't match," she huffs to herself, returning to her hunt. Maybe they got tossed in with his suits accidentally.

"What?" He asks, voice so close it startles her. She whips her head around and he's there, leaning against the bookshelf.

"I said they won't match," she flips her hair out of her face and glares when she sees his expression; his eyes are affectionate and vaguely amused as they run over her half-dressed figure. Her eyebrow pops up. "Really?"

"What?" He laughs, "You're running around my bedroom in underwear and a blouse!" He crosses his arms and looks at her with an expression she thinks is supposed to be stern, "Don't you try and make me the bad guy here."

"Now is _not_ the time, Castle," her owns arms are crossed now, but she can feel the smile sneaking onto her face without permission. She turns back into the closet to hide it from him.

"I need to find something to wear," she calls out, eyes landing on her black pants. Fine. Now she just needs to change her shirt.

"Oh, wear a tie! It's so hot when you do that!" He's right behind her again, watching her as she flips through the shirts in what is apparently her section of the closet. No time to think about that now.

"Oh!" He grabs her by the shoulder, turns her to face him, eyes lit up, "Wear one of _my _ties!"

"I'm not doing that," her voice is flat as she settles on the first plain white blouse she spots. She moves out of his closet and through the office, half listening to him as she buttons up her shirt. Hopefully she has the right shoes here…

"It would be sexy!"

"I am not wearing my boyfriend's tie to work," she crouches in the hall closet, can see the shoes she wants at the very back.

""No one would ever know," his voice is close again, and she just knows…

"Stop staring at my ass, Castle," his answering sigh confirms her suspicion. "Why are you following me around? I thought you were making me breakfast?"

"Your eggs have been growing cold for the last half hour," he exaggerates a pout as she springs back up to face him.

"Oh shi-" has it really been that long? A glance at her watch confirms it and she sighs, "We gotta go, Castle. "

"You _know_," he draws out the word, "you could streamline your morning routine if you just moved _all_ your stuff here…"

She's ignoring that.

"We need to be at Rockefeller by nine to talk to our potential witness-"

"Witness?"

"The reporter," she's only half paying attention as she buttons her coat, "who was covering the-"

"Reporter?"

"Castle," she huffs, yanking his dark, wool coat from the closet and throwing it at his chest, "I told you all of this last night."

"Um," Castle raises his eyebrows, looking indignant, "if you'll recall, I wasn't in much of a position to be retaining any information last night. I could barely remember my own name."

"You sure remembered mine," Becket pauses in her quest for her keys, smirking; she can feel her cheeks heating at the memory of him, laying in a puddle on the floor of his study.

She only allows herself a second of reflection- she doesn't need to show up at work thinking about her boyfriend slumped over, naked and-

_No_. Not conducive to keeping their relationship under wraps. _Time to work, Beckett. Focus_.

"Keys," she mumbles to herself, finally retrieving them from under a stack of junkmail. "Badge," she places a hand at her waist, nods at the familiar shape. "Gun…"

She darts into Castle's office, pointedly _not looking _at his desk or any of the area _around_ his desk. When she returns, he's still standing the foyer, staring into space with his coat clutched to his chest.

"Our _witness_," she continues in her best cop voice, "works for Access Hollywood. She was covering the party the night our vic was killed. Kristina…" She's got it in a file somewhere…

Rick perks up, spine straightening as he blinks and returns to reality, "Kristina Coterra? I know her-"

"Of _course_ you do," Beckett cuts her eyes to him, unimpressed, as she steps into her heels.

"I- just," Castle ducks his head, shrugging into his jacket, "She's covered a few of my book launches…"

"Whatever you say, Bachelor Number Nine."

"So, hey," Beckett rolls her eyes at the squeak in his voice, "we should probably get going if we need to in midtown by nine…"

She could let him try to dig himself out of this hole, but she takes pity on him because they really _are_ going to be late. Sauntering towards him, Beckett forces the image of Castle and some perky, simpering blonde out of her head. One hand reaches into his open coat, resting against the firm muscle of his chest.

"Thanks for breakfast, Castle," she murmurs. When his eyes come up to meet hers, they're smiling.

"Any time," he steals a soft kiss, and Kate pretends not to hear the relief in his voice. He gives her a small grin, "Maybe next time you'll get to enjoy some of it…"

She smiles against his lips, kissing him deeply. Her hands run over his upper body, and she can feel everything through his thin button-down. Strong chest, stomach, arms… They're all familiar now, yet no less exciting.

"You look good," she murmurs into his mouth. One hand slides down to his jeans, tugging on a belt loop; she groans as she pulls away, "And now we _really _have to go. She'll be waiting."

"Right. Witness," he nods, quickly lacing up his shoes. "Some reporter, right? Haven't heard of her…"

Kate turns back to him as she opens the door, tossing her hair over her shoulder, "Don't push it, Castle."

* * *

She's not blonde.

And she's hardly simpering.

Kristina Coterra is all dark hair and piercing gray eyes. She's _voluptuous_, even at nine-fifteen in the morning in jeans and a simple blouse. And she calls him _Ricky._

"Ricky Castle!" Coterra dismisses whatever intern is waiting on her, sidling over with a wide smile as soon as Rick and Kate step into Studio 1A.

"Kristina," Castle returns warmly, and Kate's just thankful he doesn't call her _Krissy_ or anything equally ridiculous. But he's grinning, stepping in to do that stupid double cheek kiss thing that famous people seem to think is normal. Beckett could swear the embrace lasts just a second too long, Kristina's manicured fingers holding onto those biceps just a little too tightly, and she feels her spine stiffen.

This is the part she hates. The part where her smile turns hard and fake, and her blood boils, and she finds herself thinking it might not be so bad if this perfectly innocent civilian turns out to be a cold-blooded murderer. Where she lets herself slip, lets herself be just a fraction more _Kate_ and less _Beckett_. The part where she blames Castle.

"Miss Coterra," she pastes that plastic smile on her face, quickly flashing the badge clipped to her hip, "I'm Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD. And you already know my partner-"

"Nikki Heat," the reporter nods knowingly, a touch of teasing in her voice, "the _muse_."

Beckett grits her teeth, feels Castle shuffle awkwardly beside her, "Well, I-"

"And nothing more! Totally innocent!" Kristina quickly assures her, hands in the air and still nodding. "Wouldn't want to ruin the reputation, right, Bachelor Number Nine," she elbows Rick in the side, smirking.

Beckett bristles. It's really only funny when _she_ jokes about that.

"Don't you worry," Coterra continues, oblivious, "Ricky was very clear about that when I saw him at the _Naked Heat_ release. Said I'd get him shot if I made it look like there was anything else going on."

Kate swallows her grimace, remembering how desperate she'd once been to distance herself from Castle, keeping him at arm's length. It feels almost as if she's remembering a completely different person. Four years have shifted them, nudged them slowly along, over peaks and valleys but always toward each other. These days, she finds she's desperate to claim him, to wrap him up in their own private bubble and steal him away from the rest of the world. One person in particular.

But of course, Rick is _on_, charming their potential witness with his goofy grin and his twinkly eyes and his stupid, floppy hair. She likes to think she can spot some cracks- the too-stiff smile and slight flush of his ears- but she's probably just trying to make herself feel better, make it easier on herself. This is Castle's element, and he's perfectly composed as he gently steers Kristina's focus to the case.

"…We were wondering if you remember seeing this man at the party on Friday," he turns to Kate, nodding as he slips the glossy photo of their victim from the folder in her hands. "Norman Kane? He was last seen alive around twelve-thirty."

Coterra gently takes the photo from him, and Kate doesn't miss the way her fingers manage to linger against his.

"Can't say I remember him…" she mutters.

"We were told you might have some footage from the night we could take?" Beckett hurries things along, not interested in witnessing any more small talk.

"Yeah, yeah," Coterra nods, turning to head down a long corridor and waving them along. "Our crew was filming all night long. Hopefully something will turn up. You know how these things are, right Ricky?" She tosses a smile over her shoulder, "It's a mile a minute. You're in and out with so many people…"

Castle does crack, finally. He slowly turns his head to the side, just enough to slide his eyes back to Kate. She can definitely see his ears reddening now.

Beckett doesn't break her stride, but she can't help the quirked eyebrow, the pursed lips. The _really, Castle?_ is implied.

Kate does everything she can to wrap up the interview and get them out of that damn studio. Coterra is annoyingly helpful, offering them anything they need- anything for a _friend_ like Ricky, apparently. They're almost free, following Kristina back into the main studio, armed with a box full of tapes, when Castle's phone rings.

"It's Alexis," he offers apologetically as he checks the screen. "I should probably- she's been having trouble with one of her professors…"

"Oh, go ahead," Kristina waves him away, smiling understandingly, "take your time. That hallway is quieter, if you need some privacy," she points him toward a corner to their right.

Castle flounders, eyes quickly darting between the two women. But Beckett only nods and shoos him away, because apparently she's now a _masochist_ who wants alone time with her boyfriend's ex-flames.

"He's sweet with her, huh?" Coterra is smiling, nodding in the direction Castle's just disappeared. Kate only hums, eyes focused on the other woman's sharp profile.

"So, you an-"

"So, how do-"

The two of them laugh awkwardly as they speak over each other, before Kate nods in acquiescence.

Any half-decent detective knows it's best to let the suspect do the talking. Dig their own hole.

Kristina leans in, voice hushed and eyes shining conspiratorially, "So, you and Ricky- you've really never…?"

Kate huffs out a laugh, shaking her head, "No, _never_."

She hopes it doesn't sound as rough to her companion as it does to her own ears. Lately, the denials that once poured so easily from her lips seem to get lodged somewhere in the back of her throat. She's done suppressing her feelings; finished ignoring the way his eyes and his smile and the touch of his hand set her alight from the inside out. It seems a shame to refute that. It feels like a step in the wrong direction.

But they've had lengthy conversations about all the very real reasons to keep this relationship under wraps, and telling an _entertainment reporter _that she's sleeping with Rick Castle would not be a savvy move on Beckett's part. No matter how petty she's feeling.

"Come on," Kristina smirks, "you must have at least _thought_ about it."

Beckett just grins slyly, shrugging one shoulder and slipping into the girl-talk façade. That much she can admit to. And it's not a lie. She does think about it.

A lot.

"We work together," she disagrees halfheartedly, "you know how that goes…"

"Well," Coterra sighs, "if you ever get the chance- trust me. Go for it."

_Gotcha_.

It doesn't feel like it should, though. The familiar satisfaction of hooking a suspect is overshadowed by a wave of dread crashing in Beckett's stomach. Telling her _Landmine. Abort. Get out._

But she's a detective first and foremost, thirsty for the truth, and she's answering before she can stop herself.

"Yeah?" Beckett raises an eyebrow, the excited grin on her face holding steady.

Coterra purses her lips, nodding enthusiastically, "You won't regret it-" she breaks off, glancing over her shoulder. Kate can see Castle returning in the corner of her vision, but her stare is fixed on Kristina- steady and desperate to break her open.

"If you decide to go for it," Coterra whips her head back to Kate, speaking quickly and quietly, looking pleasantly scandalized, "a tip? He likes black satin."

_No_, Kate's mind supplies automatically, _he likes lace_.

Castle's booming voice breaks through the buzzing in her ears, saying a friendly goodbye to Kristina as he takes the box of tapes from Kate's arms. It's all she can do to smile at the reporter, chuckle at her knowing wink and thank her for her help.

But she can't look at Castle in the elevator, can't do anything but stand rigidly at his side and focus on a spot on the door until her eyes burn. She can tell by his silence- he knows he's in trouble. But he doesn't know how much.

It's worse now because she can _see _it.

She knows what his hands look like; fumbling with her buttons, combing through the ends of her hair, gripping her hips, clenched in his sheets. Knows what he looks like above her, below her, panting and sated.

Kate sees him with Kristina, kissing her neck, her breasts, with the reverence she now knows so well. She sees his legs tangling with Coterra's in his dark sheets, sees his strong hands sliding over her _black satin_.

Kate sees red.


	2. Chapter 2

The air inside in the Crown Vic is thick with tension as Kate navigates them through the mid-morning traffic. Castle tries to reignite their bantering, commenting on the case a couple times, but she's too distracted to do more than brush him off with one word answers.

Meredith slept in the bed _she_ sleeps in almost every night. Meredith _and _Gina, sleeping in his bed, wrapped around him (separately, of course- oh God, don't even go _there_).

Beckett tries to stem the flow of intrusive thoughts, to bury the jealousy in the same place she's been hiding it for the last four years. She gives herself the usual speech- of course he has a past, but so does she, and this is a _mature_ relationship. She's the one who gave him shit for asking for her number, isn't she? But the words _black satin_ are playing over and over in her head, chipping away at her neatly compartmentalized psyche until the dam finally gives.

How many times did he drag Gina back to bed, promising coffee and pancakes if she just gave him twenty more minutes? Did he and that _what's-her-face_ actress make pillow talk, speaking in soft voices late into the night? Did he paint the line of her spine with his tongue as she told him about her day? How many times has he spent the entire day in bed, slowly working over some _other_ woman's body, detailing all his favourite parts of her? All the things he loves about her?

Was it like this with Sophia? After he finally landed his muse?

Did they have one long, perfect first night together? Did he hold her down against his sheets as she came apart under his mouth? Did she trace the finger-shaped bruises on her hips the next day? Did she spend lazy Sunday mornings in his bed, sharing the crossword? Wrapped up in one of his shirts as she nestled between his legs? Did she wear the _same_-

Enough.

Kate scans the side streets, quickly pulling into a quiet alley. There's a delivery truck parked halfway down, two young men carrying crates of produce through the backdoor of what must be a restaurant. She pulls the car over to the side, behind a dumpster that affords them a modicum of privacy.

"Beckett?" Castle's head pops up from the file he's been perusing, "Are you okay? What are w-"

She's got her seatbelt off before he can finish, launching herself over the center console and into his lap. His cry is muffled against her lips, mixing with the crinkling of the papers caught between them.

Beckett doesn't wait for him to catch up, forcing her tongue between his lips and claiming his mouth as he flounders beneath her. Her right hand grips his shoulder while she buries the other in his hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging his head to the left.

"Kate?" He gasps as soon as she pulls away, but her only response is to drag her lips down his jaw, sucking and biting at the rough terrain of his neck.

She uses the hand on his shoulder for leverage, grinding against him as she scrapes her teeth across his Adam's apple. It's rough and clumsy, and they can't feel much of each other through their clothes, their thick fall coats, the paperwork strewn across his lap- but the friction is enough and he finally reacts, his fingers digging into the soft space beneath her ribs. His hips rise up to meet hers and Beckett exhales sharply.

Beckett's lips reach the line of his collar and she growls, quickly switching directions and taking his earlobe between her teeth. She tightens her grip in his hair, ignoring his hiss as she pulls his head farther to the side, her tongue tracing the shell of his ear. Her fingers dig into his shoulder and she rotates her hips against him, but it's not enough- she wants more, wants to be closer, wants to crawl inside of him and bury herself deep enough to force all the other women out. All the ones that came before.

"Beckett?" Castle squeaks, even as his hands slide down to grip her ass through her jeans, "Aren't there cameras in h-"

She cuts him off with her tongue, returning to his lips and forcing them open as she hums against him. She's angry and feeling far too needy for her own comfort and _why_ is he talking? Why can't he just let her take this?

"Is this about Kristina?" It's a murmur against her lips, but she hears it clear as a bell. Beckett pulls away; glares at his glassy, dumfounded expression for a moment before she shoves him back against his seat none too gently.

Castle huffs indignantly as his head bounces off the headrest, but she's already climbing back to her seat, trying not to think about how awkward she must look, about how that _jackass_ is definitely staring at her ass again- he brought up his ex while Kate was throwing herself at him. Said the other woman's name _into her mouth_ as she-

"You're an asshole sometimes," Beckett lets out on a sigh, flopping back into her seat in a decidedly ungraceful manner.

"You're pissed because we ran into Coterra?" Castle's voice is hesitant and confused and still breathless, but Kate stares resolutely out the front window. She'd rather stare at the dull gray of the dumpster a few feet in front of them than meet his eyes and give everything away.

"Well, I mean, I'm just wondering," she shrugs, her voice coming out in a sharp bite, suppressing everything else under her anger, "should you be warning me every time we need to talk to a witness? Are we going to be running into your exes all over town?"

"Hey!" Castle raises his voice, steadier now and laced with defensiveness. "I'm not exactly Don Draper, here…"

"Could have fooled me," Kate huffs, doesn't even care how petty she is at this point. "I mean, reporters, flight attendants, ex-wives- there are only the two, right? Or was that not enough for you?"

The car is quiet for a long moment, only their heaving breathing to fill the silence. When it becomes unbearable, Kate turns to face him, finds him staring at her- eyes wide with anger. And hurt.

"Really?" He grits out quietly, raising his eyebrows.

"Castle, I-" she falters, feels her anger receded briefly at the expression on his face.

"You're gonna use that?" He barrels on, "That's a problem now?"

"_No_-" her voice is frustrated, scraped raw. Why can't he just roll over and give this to her? Say something stupid like _but I've never let anyone use my laser tag gear_ and let her roll her eyes and run from it all.

"You can't just-"

"I _know_!" Kate snaps back, lets the wave of irritation rise again and carry her along, "I'm not- what's your excuse for bringing Gina around the second time? Or Serena Kaye?"

"You _told_ me-"

"Or the _flight attendant_?"

"You _know_ why!" Castle's voice rings out through the heavy air, seeming to reverberate in the ensuing silence.

He's flushed, taking deep breaths and glaring at her with dark eyes; Kate knows she can't look much better.

She can feel the shame creeping in now, fighting its way through the wall of exasperation. She never meant to _hurt_ him, never meant to take it this far. She wants him to make her feel better, to rewind to this morning and forget that she's such a complete mess-

"You wanna talk about jealousy?" His voice is quieter now, a bit calmer, but she can still hear the edge to his words. "Do you know how many times I had to watch you parade your boyfriend around the precinct?"

"I _know_," she flops back into her seat again- they've talked about her exes before, and she felt bad and he felt bad and she doesn't want to relive it. "I just… I saw you with Meredith and Serena- and I know there were more," she bites her tongue, holds back Sophia's name. "And I know- I _do_- that it shouldn't mean anything. But I watched you chase these women, while you were supposed to be…" She trails off, horrified to find that her voice is thick, that the words still sometimes lodge in her throat.

"What do you want me to say, here, Kate?" He sighs. "We're both adults. Am I supposed to apologize? Tell you I thought of you the whole time?" He scoffs.

"No," Kate bristles, crossing her arms and staring at the dashboard. It shouldn't hurt, it shouldn't, it _doesn't_-

His words are harsh, laced with bitterness, "Were _you_ thinking of me the whole time you were with Josh?"

"Sometimes," it's out before she can think about it- she's apparently decided she has nothing to lose at this point. She remember nights- occasionally, only when it all got to be too heavy for her and she couldn't help it- spent with Josh, thinking of someone else's hands, someone else's mouth and voice and broad, strong frame. The suffocating wave of shame and the feeling of hopelessness that followed. She doesn't ever want to go back there.

His voice is soft when he speaks again, and she doesn't have to look at him to know there's compassion leaking into his expression, "It was pretty much the only way I could make myself stop thinking about you. And I _had_ to make myself stop thinking about you, especially at the end…"

She just nods, because she knows- she was there for the end. What she'd thought was the end of them, what turned out to be the end of something else entirely. The beginning of all this.

When she finally turns to face him, Kate can see he's visibly deflated, the fight drained out of him; he looks as exhausted as she feels.

"I don't know what to say to you, Kate," he admits, looks a little lost as the thought of not having the right words. "I don't know what I'm supposed to… I _tell_ you that you're different, that you're the only one, and you just roll your eyes and change the subject. I ask you to move in, and sometimes you look like you're going to be _sick_-"

"No," Beckett leans over, grasps his hand as she feels a panic welling up in her. "Castle, no, I know- and I'm- I know I-" she shakes her head, so frustrated with her own, stubborn silence. "I know, Castle," she squeezes his hand. "I do. And you know the only reason I'm so upset is because we're…" She waves her free hand between them, biting her lip and hoping her face isn't as red as it feels. But when she raises her eyes back to his, there's a small grin on his face.

"Careful, Beckett. You're about to say something very romantic…"

"Shut up," a smile breaks through without her permission; she throws his hand back into his lap, but slides her own up to squeeze his forearm. She looks down at her knees, running her fingers along the warm fabric of his coat.

"I know, Castle," it's a quiet murmur. "I do."

They sit in easy silence for a long while, as she lets her hand run over the length of his arm. She can feel her heart rate slowing, can feel the gentle wave of calm rolling through her. It's as if he knows when it's safe to speak again, can sense it through the press of her skin over his jacket.

"This was all brought on by _Coterra_, of all people? A reporter I hooked up with years ago?"

Beckett shrugs, embarrassed now by her outburst, "She mentioned…_satin_. I figured you guys made an _event_ of it."

Castle huffs out a humourless laugh, "It was one time, at one of the _Storm_ launches. And trust me, I was too drunk to notice-"

"I get it," Beckett nods, chuckling- it's a little thick, still, but it's there. She turns her body to face him, leaning her shoulder back against her seat as she takes him in. His eyes are smiling again, kind and open. Like she's forgiven already, but really- this is what it's like with him, isn't it? He's so willing, so ready to give all of his heart.

"You don't look that upset," she points out, rather mundanely. But she can still feel the residual prickle of worry under her skin. A faint worry that they'll never get this. That there will always be things between them.

"Well, you're not running away," he points out, leaning back to mirror her position, "and that's usual my first concern with you."

She wants to be offended, but honestly- when he gave her a key to the loft, she buried herself in paperwork for three days until he showed up at the precinct at midnight to fight it out.

"So the way I see it," he reaches for her hand again, tangles their fingers. "We've got time. To prove ourselves."

She can only nod, slowly moving in to press her lips against his. Because yes, she will- prove she can be better. And he will, too. She believes that, she'll make herself believe it.

"We could start now," he smirks against her mouth, sliding his hand up into her curls.

"No," she blinks a couple times, pulling away and shaking her head. "You were right, there are cameras in here."

"No," he moans, leaning back toward her, "no, forget I said anything."

"We're on a case," she laughs, pushing back on his chest. "Tonight, Castle," she squeezes his hand one more time before putting on her seatbelt, "you can start proving it."

His eyes meet hers across the space of the car, dark and wanting and full. He's warm and he's loyal and he wants her. He's hers.

He's proven so much to her already. More than he knows.

…Though, she can't help but think- it wouldn't be the worst thing if some evidence turned up against Coterra.

(It doesn't. But Kate forgets all about the other woman by the time they crash through the front door that night. She forgets all of them at the feeling of Castle's hands on her skin, his lips burning trails up and down her body. Forgets everything as he drives her mind to a blissful, sated blankness.

Kate sees stars.)


End file.
